


Friends With Benefits (Keanu Reeves x Reader Series) Part 9

by ficsnroses



Series: Friends With Benefits (Keanu Reeves x Reader Series) [9]
Category: American (US) Actor RPF, Canadian Actor RPF, Real Person Fiction
Genre: Consensual Sex, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:01:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24835033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ficsnroses/pseuds/ficsnroses
Summary: Chapter IX ~ Full Circle.What happens when two, lonely friends start seeing each other for sex? A tricky friends with benefits love story, when feelings get in the way.
Relationships: Keanu Reeves/Reader, Keanu Reeves/You
Series: Friends With Benefits (Keanu Reeves x Reader Series) [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1677169
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	Friends With Benefits (Keanu Reeves x Reader Series) Part 9

**Author's Note:**

> just a couple more chapters after this, series is scheduled to end this month! Thanks for sticking around since I started this in November. I love it with my entire heart, and I hope you do too. Please do leave feedback and comments if ya get a sec. There’s tons of parallels in here from previous chapters, kudos if you can spot em!

_It all_ comes down to the last person you think of at night.

That’s, where your heart is.

.

Day after day; week after week, abiding to dreary half executed routines and less than productive projects. It’s been 3 weeks since you’d weary boned, walked out of Keanu’s house,

and perhaps his life

once and for all demolishing the sole, fraying thread of your damaged relationship. As you roam your seemingly emptier apartment, the air around secludes, chilling wavelengths and brisky cold temperate in the atmosphere. On an oak coat hanger, draped in a corner of the living room entrance, a knitted black coat hangs, the same one Keanu had forced you to wear on impromptu evening adventures downtown the LA scene. Neither of you were much for the crowds, yet social affairs seemed… _alright_. When in the company of the other.

A lot seemed alright when in the company of one another.

Gray ash clouds outside, the LA afternoon falls dark, the dewy gold gleam of a black pine candle illuminating a halo around its part on the coffee table.

It was his favourite scent.

To the hallway wall, a small chip in the crisp white walls taunts you, his elbow bellowed in a charge too fierce when you’d pushed him to it; satin lips on yours in a feverish kiss.

Hi _s_ baseball cap, long forgotten on the loveseat by the skyline window.

Two wine glasses stowed away in the glass kitchen cabinets.

Thelighteryou kept on hand for him when he’d need a smoke after sex.

Quiet laughs shared in the moonlit dark within these very walls.

All around, there was him.

You don’t realize just how much someone is a part of you, until they’re gone.

For him, it may have just been sex. For you, you were making love. You were making love the entire time, _to him_. And now, as you sit alone in your outcast LA apartment, that same love mocks you. Suffocates you. Kills you, because it never really goes away. Just because he’s gone, it

**_hasn’t_ **

**_gone_ **

**_away_**.

He’d yet to call, and you distrust he will. Lover or not, you know him as the back of your hand. He won’t call, he cares too much. Respects you too much to force himself on you. Loud and clear, you’d made rich, undoubted clarity of the end that dreadful morning. The death of you and him.

And nothing comes back from the dead. All that leaves mark is haunting, cold memories.

Cold comfort. Burning memories of what was. He’s a man of measured words, speaks only when there was reason to. Yet, they’d left you haunted. His words that spoke far too much, far too deep, forced you to fall far too profound when you’d promised each other, it wasn’t ever the end goal.

You’d blinked once; then twice, thrice, until the first tear fell.

Warm, stinging, burning. You’d gotten used to those first couple tears lately; the ones that would come uninvited, without notice.

Even after him, all there was,

was burn.

Out.

You needed to go out, do something, find anything to distract, to quench that burning long inside you. The studio sounded nice, nothing a half finish project to get your brain juices flowing couldn’t fix.

Work had been an outlet; designs, sculptures, drawings, late night sessions locked away in your studio had been rather therapeutic when you’d first moved out.

Therapeutic-before you began finding comfort in Keanu’s king bed, silken sheets and cotton pillows scattered around almost every night.

The lock to the apartment door clinks, keys bustling with a toss into your bag before you start toward the elevator.

This is good. This is okay. The morning is rather low-spirited and desolate, not a soul in the halls or lobby. Perhaps you preferred it that way for now.

Alone. Something so familiar, but revitalising. Or maybe truth be told, right now, for you, if it wasn’t him,

it couldn’t be anyone at all.

_His rich chuckle,_

_His smoky laugh,_

_That inquisitive, immersed stare with the tip of his lips slightly agape while he listens, breathes in the world around him,_

Stop.

With a half executed, drained sigh, you trudge to the brassy elevator doors, sounds of trudging cables and gaudy belts before the doors glide open, the elevator scent of a freshener far too strong, mimicking fresh linen and Californian citrus. The ride down is short, a derisory accomplishment of actually stepping foot out into the world outside your sheltered apartment corridors. With a stop to the third floor below yours, the elevator dings, heavy footsteps and the scent of spiced cologne wafted through the trivial space.

Spiced cologne; a dire contrast to the woodier, pine-ier one of Keanus.

Voice intruding, you pick up deep soundwaves and flashy baritone, a greeting of curious surprise your way. “Y/N?” They speak, snapped out your dreary daydream, thoughts somehow continually reverted back to broken eyes, deadbeat silence from that shattered morning endured three weeks ago.

Curious orbs raised, you perceive him; an old colleague residing in the same complex. He’d been the first neighbour you encountered in the midst of your move here, a heavy box of dishes and cutlery saved by his robust arms carrying them up to your front door that year ago. “ _Matt?_ ”

“It’s been a while, haven’t seen you around.” He raises, hands shoved into his blue jean pockets, tall frame taking place a mere few inches apart from you.

“Just been busy.” You smile, stray strand of lock tucked behind your ear. Matt had been much help during your move, and you’d kept in touch thereafter. He’d come visit time to time for a piping cup of French coffee; discussions of work and projects mindlessly favoured together.

“Right.” He replies, amiable smile to his full lips. “I saw you’d been working on bigger films.” He starts, admirable sheen to his dark eyes. “Very commendable work.” He praises, a gentle chuckle when the following words flow. “Hey, I have to ask…” The elevator descends further down, main lobby in approach. Sounds of trudging still bellow above, yet the sound of his talk was…nice. It was nice to hear someone.

Apart from failed attempts of your girlfriends to take you out for drinks, you’d heard little rather from the voice that would seep your television; the Netflix catalogue had been getting much devotion lately.

With his brows scrunching, the baritone of his voice raises slight, wondering. “I’ve seen a guy visit you every now and then…was that Keanu freaking Reeves?” timidly chuckled, he takes in your gentle giggle, a nod to his query.

“Yeah, it was.”

“Ahhh.” He breathes, glance at the polished floor. “Boyfriend…?” His voice lingers, a dragged out tone in question, eyes focused to assess your features change.

“Business partner.” You lie.

A cold, dreadful lie that held so much history, so much regard. So much history, thrown away with those two, taciturn words.

“Right.” Matt rakes a heavy palm through his hair, moved to gesture out a peace offering in front of him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to assume.” He apologizes, nervous tone thick with unease, yet held to a certain confidence. Matt had charisma, poise, a pleasant presence.

Voice warm, you overtake, smiling in return. “Of course not.” Sincerely, you compliment. “You look well.” Commenting, the elevator rings open, the main lobby arrives. Matt allows you to go first, leading the way graciously.

“You do too, as always.” He praises, eyes glazing over your features in an admirable glow. Hand tucked back into his jean pocket, a timid silence stays put in the air around, your brows raising when at a loss of what to say next. Features contemplative, Matt’s voice gruffs in his throat, gently coughing a nervous pitch to the look of your welcoming gaze. “I’d actually love to catch up sometime, if you’re free.” He proposes. “Maybe a coffee sometime this week?”

Your thoughts halt in trek, gaze flickering to the pavement below in the distance for a moment. Company…someone to ease your mind off the storm brewing inside….

You think back,

 _Two_ _wine glasses stowed away in the glass kitchen cabinets. A half drank bottle of Merlot sitting in solitude._

“Do you wanna come over tonight?” You blurt, uncertain of when the words had even fallen off your lonesome lips. Partly wonderstruck you’d extended an invitation so sudden, you marvel if it was too soon. You’d just met Matt again; only shared a meagre 3 minutes together thus far.

You’d only shut Keanu out so soon ago, yet you knew deep inside, he was still stuck in each part of you. But it couldn’t go on like that forever, _this_ couldn’t go on forever. You need something new, potentially _someone_ new.

Someone that doesn’t come with such baggage, someone who doesn’t come with so many complications.

Matt shifts, charming smile plastered to his lips with a quick glance down. His thoughts collect; gaze locked to yours in an admiration filled sincerity. “Yeah, for sure.” He speaks. “I’d really like that.” Controlled and certain, you nod, gesturing to the roads off sight. “I’ve just got a day of errands and work ahead. But I’ll see you at my place tonight?” You offer. “Is 7:00 alright?”

“Of course.” He smiles, giving you a gentle nod, and if you thought close enough, you’d swore his awed eyes sputtered to your rosy lips ever so briefly,

wondering….

3 weeks. 3 long, tiresome, drained week without her. Without her company, without her voice, without her floral scent; roses and lilies to brighten his days. It had felt as if she’d been wiped away, his motionless mind left with nothing but _burning_ memories of their time together.

Laying in his king bed, Keanu wonders what she’s doing right now. Is she thinking of him, the way he thinks of her? Has she forgotten him, the way they were, the things they did? He prays. He pleads she hasn’t forgotten. Three weeks had passed, and time seemed to mock him at every second. A lifetime spent alone, the lonesome days and months, turned mindlessly to years. Her walking away had been perhaps the most gut wrenching, soul eating occurrence to ever break his mind. Her walking away was the sourest sting he’d ever had to swallow.

Because he knows he’ll never forget her. Not now, not today, not in another three weeks.

She was it for him, he’d known it for a while. If it was going to be anyone, if he had a chance to make it right with anyone, it was solely, unconditionally, her. He couldn’t forget.

Couldn’t forget the things they did.

She’d been a dire reflection of him, mirroring his tepid, half sheltered heart. The heart that longs, for so much more. It was only her. It could only be her.

It wasn’t toxicity.

 _time passed, the days turned to nights, the tick bestowing further, the time spending away, not making either of them younger **, he knew**_. She was it. It all meant something, it was never just sex.

It could never just be sex. What he felt, she had to feel it too.

She had to. No longer was it feasible to suffer. He won’t suffer. This time, now, finally, _he won’t_ suffer. He won’t let it be.

As he turns his side, an exasperated sigh flees his lips, hand bestowed to his feeble forehead in an aching protrude. He wonders what she’s doing right now, if she’s awake, wondering, thinking, _missing_ him like he is her. Longing for him, as he is for her.

Suffering for him, as he is for her.

A glance toward the bedside table shows, dainty clock illuminating the time. He’d seek her in the early morning, and this time, he’d at least try to make things right. Lay his heart out on the line, hoping, pleading she’d accept it. Enough had been enough, dreary thoughts and lonesome nights, burning away, wondering of what could be would perverse no more.

He wonders what she’s doing _right now._

**_11:38pm_ ** **.**

She couldn’t forget him. He wouldn’t let her.

 _Couldn’t_ forget the things they did.

Words not spoken,

Things not said,

Regrets; enveloping you.

A finished bottle of Merlot, a shot or two as well. Something crisp…something that,

burned.

You don’t remember who did it first, who wanted it first, who let it happen first.

His scent lasted longer than you’d liked on your skin, that murky dusk of spiced cologne, his polite, appealing presence. He arrived with a bottle of White, a variety you’d almost never kept on hand in the last couple of months.

Red used to be his favourite; so it was yours.

Perhaps you were vulnerable, perhaps he was too kind. Too charming, too present. But you asked for it, you did it, you wanted it. Or so you think you did.

_It always comes full circle._

_You_ needed someone that night, needed to _feel_ someone that night. You don’t remember who made the first move, seemed as if both of you wanted that mutuality, that connection just as much.

 _Back where you’d started_.

His skin grazed yours, gentle thumb soothed to your own; wine glass held in a wavering grip, frail to your boney fingers. You didn’t stop him, didn’t pull away. He moved closer, and maybe you did too. Closer to him, nearer to him.

The gray bedroom walls heard the scene; they saw it all, unadulterated, held the secrets of what you’d done. His lips on yours, his hands on you, your fingers clawing to his back. You let him in, and he took each inch of you. Raw, exposed, desperately attempting to chase that high, that cloud nine feel that came with months gone. You could lay with this man while you thought of _him_ , drawing sorrow deep inside his skin. Scratch his back to forget _his_ face, bite his neck with _his_ name on your tongue, touch his face while you think of _him_.

It’s an awful feeling, knowing you did nothing wrong.

But did everything wrong, all in the same.

“ _Y/N…_ ” You cut Matt off by kissing his lips, gracefully on the bed underneath him, hands in his hair with his heavy palms to your hips. Moving diligently, he sulks into your neck, moaning, soft and quiet grunts between bites and nips to your neck. “ _Faster_ ,” You spill, nerve endings tantalized as he thrusts, your lips stippled to his piercing jawline.

Is it easier for him? you wonder, you ponder,

_you guess._

“ _You’re irresistible_ …” He whispers, lips browsed to your chest in a warm enhold, skin on skin within the softness of release. Back arching, you lean into his touch, hips bucking along with his when your mind jumbles, an awful realization, the bitter realism. He’s changing your breath with every thrust, working your body in a hot, humid intimacy so foreign, his manhood hastily working your body beneath. So foreign, so…empty.

That familiar stretch isn’t there, the sweet burn isn’t there, _he isn’t there_. This isn’t him. No matter how hard you try, _how tight_ you clench your eyes hoping you’ll trick yourself into believing it, _it isn’t him_.

He’s safe, he’s new, he’s different,

But he’s not him. The façade you show melts away.

He’ll never be him. No one will ever be him.

As he slips out in the midnight light, the bed sinks beside you, and you turn with the comforter held to your exposed chest. The only light in the bedroom filters from the cracked window, the illuminated alarm clock on your dainty nightstand enlightening the while,

**_11:38pm_ ** **.**

The misty LA morning brought new found hope; new found anticipation. The weather had predicted a storm brewing out soon, yet that wouldn’t be enough to stop Keanu.

Not today. Not when he needs her to know. Not when he loves her, and he knows so deep, so profound that _he does_.

Sunny California had grayed a dark to its golden rays lately, a frigid mist clings to the air. Heavier rains had been the norm recently, damper months in full fledge. A tug of war impends his mind, should he wait until evening? Should he call? Was this an intrusion of her space? Her choices?

Was she _really, truly_ content leaving things the way she did?

He looks in the mirror; beard longer than it had been since he’d seen her; hair shaggier than she’d left him. He hadn’t had anyone to look good for since she’d gone away. Hadn’t had motivation to present himself to anyone since she’d left. Some of Y/N’s things still lingered the empty walls of his home; a lacy bra left in his wardrobe, a crewneck sweater mindlessly thrown under his bed; her copy of a Hemingway novel abandoned in his office, a toothbrush for when she’d spend the night.

It had been there the entire time.

 _Just sex_ isn’t this involved.

 _Friends with benefits_ aren’t this involved.

She’d been there the entire time.

After a quick shower and groom of his rather untamed features, Keanu snatches his keys and wallet, fear filled drive to her apartment drained on his mind. Y/N had to see this through, had to trust him, understand him.

Y/N and Keanu had never really got it right, never quite found the balance. But it could be found, could be learnt, could be when they’d finally accept it.

The balance was always them. Them together, as whole. Half executed attempts at being anything less would suffice no more. What was, _what is_ , was always more.

It was never just sex.

It was so much more.

The apartment complex is rather fuller than normal, piercing cold and dewy morning air enveloped around. Crowds had stayed in, and the first murky dewdrops of fresh rain speckled his worn out leather jacket on arrival.

_This worn out leather jacket…._

He’d placed it on her shoulders when the bitter cold threatened her skin. She’d peeled it off him when they did what lovers do.

_It was never just sex._

_It was companionship._

The wearing pockets had held her special birthstone ring, forgotten in his possession solely for him to have a reason to come to her, sooner than they’d planned.

_It was never just sex._

_It was the feeling of needing someone; having someone_.

The fraying insides and ravelling threads felt the weight of her body holding him, chest pressed to his back along the scenic LA mountains, breezy winds and violet sunsets known all too well on destination less rides.

_It was never just sex._

_It was connection; intimacy_.

This old, worn out leather jacket, a possession of his he’d held for so long, something that had been through it all, held so much of _her_. Knew so much of her.

_It was never just sex._

_It was their love. And it was so much more, so much more than just physical._

The ride up and trek to her door seemed endless, racing pace and quick strides in desperate attempt to get to her as soon as he could. Everything had finally fallen into place, he’d finally understood. And he knew so well, that she would too. Takes one to know one; they’d been lonely far too long.

Within moments, Keanu stood firm at her door, abundance of confidence, anticipation, yet a timid nervousness all in one piping cocktail of eagerness flowing through his veins. He hadn’t seen her in weeks; his favourite, the most prized possession in his life, he hadn’t seen in weeks. More than anything, he hopes she had been alright. Taken care of herself, stayed healthy and safe.

A ring at the door bell, and a loud knock.

Seconds, moments, small increments of time passing seem as if an eternity slowly moving by.

Another knock, for good measure.

 _Hands shaking so slightly, skin crawling, fists clenched with a stare to the floor_.

She should be home, it’s only morning.

_Trudging elevator belts moving in the distance, footsteps in and around the complex halls, leg bouncing, lip bitten in dreary wait, a nervous sigh when more moments pass until…_

_Click_. The door wavers open, she stands behind, half dressed, features borderline stoic, yet with a gentle hold of sorrowed blues. She looks beautiful as always, and his heart hitches at the sight of her. The woman he loves, so dearly, so much. Hair stowed in a messy bun, fatigue seeps under her eyelids, tired features soft under the artificial hallway lights.

“Y/N…” Keanu speaks above a smooth, buttery whisper; the sound of her name slipping off so naturally, so effortlessly. “I wanted to see you…”

She swallows tight, eyes never leaving his chocolaty, sincere gaze, so love drunk as he stares. He’d engulf her in his arm right now if he could. Hold her for an eternity if time allowed. Kiss her so passionately, so lovingly that it’d take her breath away. Yet he waits; waits to do things right. Do it the right way, for the first time in their tumbling relationship. “Can I come in?” He asks, voice almost choking in his gruffed throat.

She’d hardly moved before he’d caught glimpse; a deep baritone behind her, the sound an intruding shock to his already racing heart. Calm yet collected, Keanu stands, eyes tracing behind as the voice firms in closer,

a man, jacket hung over his left shoulder blade, morning hair just woken ruffled a mess, palm placed to her back with a gentle squeeze as he bids goodbye. “ _I need to head out, but I’ll call you_.” He smiles at her, before locking gaze with Keanu.

“Morning.” He greets Keanu, before giving Y/N’s arm a reassuring, goodbye squeeze, slipping beside Keanu and out the door, disappearing down the hall. Y/N stands in front of him, eyes locked to his still, as if pleading, begging for something…something neither of them could quite understand.

Keanu stills, fists clenched, heart stinging with piercing defeat.

She’d been with another man.

The love he so desperately longed for, the women he knew he needed,

had been in the arms,

of another.

➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴


End file.
